


Gentle Posturing With a Side of Mutual Understanding

by helloshepard



Series: prowlcoswave [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon Typical Jargon, Cave-In, Corruption, Discussions of Canon-Typical Ableism/Racism, Fix-It, Foreshadowing, Hardlining, Headcanon, Injury Recovery, Matrix of Leadership (Transformers), Minor Character(s), Misunderstandings, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Pre-Poly, Synesthesia, Talking, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: Soundwave and Prowl. A cave-in. Arguing. Agreeing. Commiserating. Rinse and repeat.
Relationships: Cosmos/Prowl/Soundwave
Series: prowlcoswave [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633282
Comments: 12
Kudos: 61





	Gentle Posturing With a Side of Mutual Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a long one. 
> 
> Accordingly, the notes are just as long. 
> 
> tl;dr, this fic takes MTMTE/exrid 56-57 and chops it up into tiny little bits, tosses it into the blender with spite, and then is baked in an oven of wish fulfillment. And out comes this thing. 
> 
> This fic also officially de-canonizes Prowl and Soundwave's unfortunate makeout session and hardlining from a fic posted earlier this year. It's never really sat right with me in comparison to the rest of the series, but I'm sure eventually they'll do something equally stupid. 
> 
> This fic is _also_ a dumping ground for a lot of my headcanons about Soundwave, most of which won't be explored in this series. There are some references to non-mtmte/exrid events, particularly what Prowl (and Perceptor) did to Kup in All Hail Megatron #15, and Sentinel from All Hail Megatron.
> 
> The endgame/initial plot of this fic had been planned out for more than a year, but reading [Spec Ops 98](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7248067/chapters/16456393) inspired me to take the presentation in a wildly different direction than originally planned (specifically, the cave-in chapters). Plus, I've been watching Beast Wars recently and was jotting down all the technical/jargon terms and needed to use them _somewhere._
> 
> But honestly, this meandering fic was a lot of fun to write, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. I promise one day I'll stop with the nonsensical titles :P

{

> proximity alarms online

> no hostiles detected

> medical port accessed

> [authorization code: C0XX89***PRWL // MEDICAL OVERRIDE]

> system reboot yes / no

** >> yes**

>generating diagnostic report . . .

> . . .

> . . .

> energon levels; 23%

> processing power manually rerouted to primary systems [authorization code: C0XX89***PRWL // MEDICAL OVERRIDE]

> multiple ruptures detected

> shields offline

> damage to outer armor (49% integrity and holding)

>damage to protoform

> recommend data packet transfer

> recipients: Sky-Byte (2 minutes); Ravage (≈ 84 minutes) 

> transfer?yes / no

** >> no**

> generating time till automatic stasis lock

> . . .

> foreign body detected

> firewalls deployed to anterior spark chamber

> . . .

> ERROR. RECOMMEND UPDATING FIREWALLS.

> estimated time until automatic stasis lock: 43 hours

> initiate activation? yes / no

** >> yes **

}

His mind was a muddled, swimming haze of colors and numbers.

Soundwave didn’t bother activating his optics—doing so would simply worsen the wave of sensation threatening to overwhelm his already overclocked systems; enough of his processes had been manually diverted to keeping his primary systems alive that for the moment, concentration— _focus—_ was far out of reach.

If he couldn’t focus, he wouldn’t be able to stop his systems from being overwhelmed and quickly burning out what little energon remained in his fuel lines, but if he couldn’t divert some power towards blocking out the flurry of sensation churning in his mind he wouldn’t be able to _focus._

According to Cosmos, the humans called that a catch-22.

The thought of Cosmos had Soundwave lurching blindly upwards, only to be stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. His last clear memory file was of Cosmos running towards them. His fear had been so palpable, so _real…_

“Cosmos?”

Warmth shot through his spark.

“Try again.”

Abruptly, Soundwave’s optics onlined, perceived the nauseating onslaught of data, and shorted out.

“That didn’t work the first two times, either.”

“First?” His words felt…slow. _Wrong._ The wrong words? Or was it just because he was repeating them. Repeating himself?

Prowl didn’t answer, but Soundwave felt the Autobot (was he an Autobot? He had the badge still—no one had taken it from him, though they’d taken Cosmos’ because _Cosmos_ wasn’t an Autobot anymore, he was just _Cosmos,_ who’d chosen to leave the Autobots rather than leave _him,_ and the memory of that was burned into Soundwave’s memory files)’s hand against his currently-occupied medical port. Checking the connection, Soundwave realized.

Or was _he_ checking the connection?

Without visual input and minimal drive space dedicated to suppressing his abilities, he could hardly tell where he ended and Prowl began—were it not for the hand on his shoulder, Prowl might as well have been halfway across the room. Or inside his armor.

His optics rebooted, and Soundwave was treated to a collage of colors and lights against a backdrop of the pure dark of their surroundings.

Soundwave switched off his visor.

“Location?” Soundwave managed.

Again, Prowl was quiet.

_“Location?”_

“If my calculations are correct—and they _are—_ approximately three quarters of a kilometer inside one of Luna-1’s thrusters.”

Prowl removed his hand from his shoulder.

At the abrupt loss of contact, Soundwave flinched, and Prowl’s presence faded into the nebulous mass of maybe-Soundwave, maybe-Prowl.

“How much do you remember?” That, at least, was Prowl’s voice.

Probably. Soundwave’s voice box hadn’t activated, so he was reasonably sure that was the case. Unless Soundwave had just _thought_ it.

Soundwave composed a data packet. Ordinarily, he would have scorned such a hasty, _sloppy_ remote transfer, but scrubbing his memory files of excess sensory data took far more of his limited concentration than anticipated. Wordlessly, he sent it to Prowl. Even if Prowl hadn’t asked, it couldn’t hurt to share data, especially when stasis lock was just a few hours away.

He felt, rather than _knew,_ Prowl opening it, processing its contents in a matter of seconds what would have taken most mechs minutes—if not hours.

Soundwave lay back and felt Prowl remember.

* * *

“I can’t _believe_ you two.”

Cosmos was pacing, though considering his size, he could only took a step or two before being forced to turn around.

“You _did_ know.”

“Not about that!” Cosmos whipped around and crossed his arms. “I knew you two were _talking,_ not that you two…went and _negotiated_ me like a…a _used_ chic-chip!”

“Um,” Sky-Byte said from his seat at the controls. “Should I leave? _Can_ I leave?”

“The ship is too small,” Soundwave said.

“He’ll calm down eventually.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Cosmos glared at Prowl. “You _always_ do that.”

“You’re right,” Prowl said, and Cosmos froze.

“I’m—what?”

“You’re _right.”_ Prowl met Cosmos’ gaze directly, and Soundwave had to fight the urge to pull away from the sheer intensity of charged emotion building between the two. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

 _“You_ are only half the problem.” Cosmos jabbed a finger in Soundwave’s direction. _“He_ started it.”

Soundwave held up his hands. Cosmos was nearly trembling with anger—anger Soundwave didn’t understand. Was it inappropriate for Autobots to ask for help in personal matters? Such a concept didn’t seem congruent with their tendency towards the sentimental. But—

* * *

“It wasn’t that.”

Soundwave tilted his helm in what he _hoped_ was Prowl’s direction. Most of what little processing power he had managed to free up was diverted to blocking out Prowl’s thoughts.

Prowl had a lot of thoughts. Many, _many_ thoughts, most going by too quickly for Soundwave to feel, much less understand without an established hardline connection. But Prowl didn’t _want_ a hardline, didn’t want Soundwave and his abilities anywhere near him. Soundwave would respect that. He _had to_ respect that.

Prowl—and Cosmos—would hate him if he didn’t.

One of them checked the connection again. Prowl, probably, because there would be no reason for Soundwave to do it. He could feel what little medical programming Prowl had running additional diagnostics in the background of his awareness, which meant there _was_ a physical connection between them, which meant Soundwave _wasn’t_ alone.

So there was no need to check

Prowl swatted his hand away.

“Cosmos is…intimidated,” Prowl said, finally.

Soundwave thought back to their first meeting.

“Cosmos not prone to intimidation.”

“Not the way you’re thinking.” He felt Prowl settle back, leaning against—a wall? Debris? “He’s got it in his head that you and I are more alike than we are different.”

“You disagree?”

“I’ve made my objections known.” Prowl crossed his legs. “The belief persists regardless.”

Soundwave considered the idea. It was one he agreed with, though he’d had no idea Cosmos had come to the same conclusion. Still, it didn’t explain why Cosmos had been so _angry._ Working out the particulars of the disagreement had been de-prioritized after their arrival, but now it seemed vitally important _._

“Cosmos, retrieval: estimated time of arrival?”

He felt Prowl shrug. Smothered uncertainty rolled off him in waves.

“Comms don’t work this far underground.” There was a moment of silence, then: “I was hoping you might be able to confirm. With your excellent ‘hearing’ and all.”

Soundwave shook his head, and wondered if Prowl could see it.

“Primary system support requires extensive processing power. The drive space, focus required exceeds current parameters. Even if possible: connection will be only one way. Cosmos has no way to intercept telepathy.”

“Ah.”

And Prowl fell silent.

* * *

 _“Ah,”_ Starscream had said.

It wasn’t how he had expected to be greeted.

For what little it was worth, Starscream _had_ promised him temporary amnesty in return for fixing his “little problem”, as he referred to it. Soundwave had been invited along, since “you may as well put your nosy processor to some use”. And Cosmos and Sky-Byte had invited themselves along for the ride: Sky-Byte because he wanted to meet up with Blurr, Cosmos because...

Prowl had _assumed_ it was because Soundwave was there. But Cosmos had stuck by _him_ as Starscream looked Prowl up and down.

“I suppose you did claim him,” Starscream was saying to Soundwave, though he was glaring at Prowl. “Though if he tries to destroy another space bridge, I’m taking it out of _your_ stipend.”

“Starscream has no access to Decepticon finances,” Soundwave had said, and Prowl had to manually disable the alerts that popped up in his HUD when Starscream and Soundwave stood together. Beside him, Cosmos tensed, and Prowl took some comfort in the fact that it was likely his systems had pushed the same alert through. “Soundwave’s stipend is secure.”

“Whatever.” With an obviously-practiced flourish, Starscream and his cape whipped around as the Decepticon led them out of the docking area and towards the spacebridge.

Cosmos nudged him.

“Where _is_ everyone?”

Cosmos wasn’t wrong—there _were_ Cybertronians around. But there weren’t _enough._ Soundwave had insisted on their arrival being a publicly announced, and while Cybertron had had its fair share of disasters since the last time Prowl had visited, he wasn’t naive enough to believe he had been forgotten entirely. At a minimum, he had anticipated Circuit and Longtooth.

Prowl shrugged, but pinged a quiet acknowledgment. Beside him, Cosmos relaxed.

The spacebridge looked far larger than Prowl remembered, though he knew some distortion in perspective was to be expected, considering the last time he had seen it, he had been a hundred feet in the air, and also a part of a gestalt intent on destroying it.

He’d been trying not to think about the Constructicons. Their absence tugged at his spark in a way few others could, and the knowledge that they were still _here,_ somewhere on this planet—

::Hey.::

Prowl realized he’d lifted a hand to his face, intended to wipe away a trickle of energon that wasn’t coming.

Cosmos was tall enough to block Starscream’s gaze, though Prowl could practically _feel_ the Seeker straining to look over Cosmos’ shoulders.

::You okay? Soundwave already went through.::

Cosmos inclined his head towards the spacebridge.

He’d switched to internal comms. Neither of them had felt the need to do that in months.

Being around Starscream changed that.

Prowl nodded.

::You go through first.::

Cosmos didn’t look back, and Prowl wondered if he could feel Starscream glaring daggers into his armor.

::Just in case he tries to grab you.::

::An unlikely scenario.::

Prowl ran the calculations just to be sure.

::But thank you.::

::Don’t mention it.:: 

Cosmos sighed.

::Why do I get the feeling we won’t be going home for a while?::

* * *

“Home.”

His infrared lenses showed Soundwave practically _glowing_ with excess energy. Excess energy meant an increased rate of burning energon, which meant even though Prowl’s own quickly-diminishing fuel reserves were combined with Soundwave’s, stasis lock was a matter of _when._ Not if.

Prowl switched to night vision, and his perception of Soundwave changed to muted grey and white.

Gingerly, Prowl touched his side.

Soundwave winced, and Prowl bit back his instinctive demand that Soundwave keep his abilities to himself. The medical kit he kept in a subspace pocket wasn’t nearly enough for the mess of torn plating and ruptured tanks and lines that used to be Soundwave’s chassis, but it had managed to quell the energon that insisted on pouring out from the blaster wound.

“Cosmos thinks of the station as ‘home’?” Soundwave hadn’t waited for him to reply—not that Prowl knew what to say.

Prowl tried anyway.

“When he gets here, you can ask him yourself.”

He tried pinging Cosmos, then Sky-Byte, then Starscream and received error messages 279-281.

He tried pinging Optimus.

282.

Suffocating quiet settled over them like a humid blanket, and Prowl was seized with the irrational urge to say something—anything—to break the silence. It was better to stay quiet, to allow Soundwave to better conserve his energy. It was _selfish_ of Prowl to want someone to talk to. Especially now.

Instead, Prowl watched their energy reserves dwindle.

“Left thigh compartment,” Soundwave said.

“Hm?”

Soundwave’s visor flickered on, and Prowl felt the air temperature increase by half a degree.

“Mid-grade energon.”

“That would’ve been helpful an hour earlier.”

“Apologies.” Soundwave hadn’t looked in his direction yet—not that Prowl minded. “I did not…remember?”

Prowl didn’t reply, choosing instead to pry open said compartment and pull out a cube of energon. It glowed faintly in the dim light.

“You won’t be able to keep this down,” Prowl said, almost apologetically. His processor had been devoted to interpreting and analyzing Soundwave’s medical data, counting down the hours until the mech entered stasis lock. By current estimates, Soundwave had less than a full Earth day. But if Soundwave continued to recharge in proportion to waking hours, shared between them, this much energon would give him an additional three days.

“Prowl: injured. Prioritizing recovery is necessary.”

“I’m not the one with more holes than chassis.”

“Better than its parts.”

“What?”

Soundwave turned to look in his direction, then looked away just as quickly.

“One of Laserbeak and Buzzsaw’s jokes.” Soundwave raised a hand and moved as if he was going to touch his shattered chestplate, then apparently thought better of it and lowered it back to the ground. “Cosmos: not amused.”

Back to Cosmos. Besides Soundwave’s obvious infatuation with the mech, it made sense that he’d want to broach the subject again: he _was_ one of the few non-confrontational things they had in common, wasn’t it?

Prowl didn’t want to think about Cosmos. _Especially_ when he was around Soundwave. He’d already agreed to help Soundwave woo him, and developing feelings for Cosmos along the way was just an unfortunate side effect. Trying to attract Cosmos’ affections _now_ would just be…bad taste.

Besides, Cosmos was just as infatuated with Soundwave.

Prowl tore open the cube of energon and drank it quickly, hardly noticing the taste. If their rescue was going to be delayed further, he’d need to dig out the small welder from the medkit and start attempting to seal Soundwave’s fuel lines—a temporary solution, considering the state of his tanks, but it might buy him some more time.

The temperature in their shared space ticked up a full degree. Prowl switched his lenses back to infrared and was nearly blinded by the amount white heat pouring out from Soundwave’s frame. His processor in particular was verging on overheating just by _lying here_. Why?

Prowl checked Soundwave’s medical data again. He’d used the universal medical override, granting him limited access to the Decepticon’s systems—any more would require Soundwave to lower his firewalls, but Prowl was very quickly approaching the limits of his medical expertise. The data was easy to understand, designed for non-medical professionals to interpret.

It also wasn’t telling the whole story.

“Your processing systems are at 98.5% capacity,” Prowl said. “Regulating your primary systems should be taking up far less than that. 83% at most.” It was an uncomfortably vague guess—Prowl hadn’t studied the schematic and limitations of Soundwave’s most recent frametype, but based on his _past_ frames, 83% was the average.

“Focus—controlling abilities—takes up remaining drive space.”

Prowl grit his teeth. It was about as far down the list of things he wanted to hear, especially now.

“You’re going to burn out your processor if you don’t relax your control,” Prowl said. “Under the circumstances, I don’t see any other option.”

“Negative.” Soundwave powered down his visor. “Relinquishing further focus, control, will be unpleasant for both of us.”

“I know I said you needed to stay out of my head, but if the alternative is _your_ head overheating and blowing out, I think I can handle it.”

“Not like that.” Soundwave raised his hand, grasping at something Prowl could not see. “Manifestations of abilities, their effect on Prowl in limited space, a guaranteed consequence. Similar to glitching, logic circuit, neural control disruption. It is imperative Prowl remain cognizant, continue relaying location and attempting to contact aid.”

Prowl grimaced. He couldn’t argue with that. 

“What about a…hardline?”

Soundwave tensed. Perhaps he could sense the regret that had flooded Prowl’s systems the instant the words left his voicebox. But he had already begun talking again.

“It’s dark enough that only a portion of my simulation matrices are active.” Though he didn’t think Soundwave could see it, Prowl tapped the side of his helm. Monitoring their status and sending fruitless messages took up so little of his attention it almost looped back around to being _uncomfortable_ in its simplicity. This wasn’t the break his constantly overtaxed processor _wanted,_ but here it was.“Plenty of space up here.” 

“Hardline will not diffuse abilities. Hardline may compound them.”

“I wasn’t talking about diffusion,” Prowl said, eager to jump into a familiar routine of arguing over semantics with Soundwave. “I was talking about you allowing me to run some of your systems. Leaving you more space to focus.”

Soundwave was quiet for a long, long moment. He lay still enough that the projections in Prowl’s vision dwindled down to single digits, focusing on the labored movement of Soundwave’s frame as he breathed, the slow trickle of energon as it slowly pooled between them.

“Prowl, certain?”

“No.” Prowl slid back the hardline port on his wrist. “But I know Cosmos would never forgive me if I could’ve helped you and I didn’t.”

* * *

Had he been gifted with his companion’s quick processor and ability to make snap decisions, Soundwave would have taken one look at the mechs on the other side of the space bridge, turned around, and walked right back out the way he came, holding out a hand to catch Cosmos and Prowl before they accidentally walked into this mess.

Instead, Soundwave froze.

Optimus was there. Soundwave had expected that.

Circuit and Longtooth were there, cameras rolling. Soundwave expected that.

Alpha Trion was also there. Soundwave had expected that, too. Considering they were on Luna-1, he had even anticipated the presence of Red Alert, the moon’s security chief. He frowned, reaching out to seek the _other_ inhabitants of Luna-1. They were too far away to be easily identified, but there were…many. Most of them in pain. Soundwave made a mental note to ask Red Alert about that when he got a chance.

What he _hadn’t_ expected was a miniaturized version of Sentinel Prime staring at them and holding half the Matrix.

Prowl walked into him.

“You said this was a _problem,”_ Soundwave snapped at Starscream, who had just stepped through the spacebridge behind Cosmos and felt more than a little relieved to have two Autobots and a Decepticon between him and the Primes. “You did _not_ say it was Sentinel Prime.”

 _“Allegedly.”_ Soundwave felt Starscream gather his courage and push past them. “As I recall, Sentinel Prime was far taller. And last I saw, a chair. I need you and your Autobot to verify his identity.”

“Sure looks like Sentinel,” Cosmos mused. Despite the circumstances, Soundwave smiled.

 _“Not you!”_ Starscream jabbed a finger in Cosmos’ direction. “You’re bad enough, hanging around with the Pinky and the Brain—now you’re starting to _sound_ like them.”

_“Starscream.”_

Starscream froze, as the realization that he was berating a civilian on live television bloomed red in his processor.

Despite the situation, Soundwave was very nearly amused.

“Can we focus?” Prowl stepped forward, determinedly not looking at Optimus.

“Prowl.” Soundwave couldn’t immediately discern Sentinel’s mood—satisfied? Smug? It felt like a headache.

Sentinel turned to Soundwave.

“As I recall, you were Ratbat’s aide.”

Hot embarrassment shot through Soundwave’s tanks, but Sentinel had already turned to Starscream.

“And _you._ I should kill you where you stand, _Decepticon.”_

Starscream put on his least-scheming smile. “I believe you mean _legally elected ruler of Cybertron and representative to the Council of Worlds.”_

“About that.” Soundwave heard Sentinel’s frown. “After conferring with Optimus, I’ve come to the conclusion that Cybertron has certainly languished in my absence.”

“That _is_ what tends to happen after four million years of war.”

“Shut _up_ Starscream.”

Soundwave heard Cosmos smother a desperate, hysterical laugh and realized that he and Prowl had spoken at the same time.

“A war that never would have occurred if the Senate—your master in particular,” Sentinel said, referring to Soundwave. “Had done what was needed. But better late than never. Prowl?”

Despite himself, Prowl snapped to attention.

“First: you failed. Destroying the spacebridge would have killed off Cybertron _and_ the colonies. It would have been far more efficient to _use_ the spacebridge to travel to the colonies, wipe them out, then sieze their resources for Cybertron.”

“Sentinel.” Optimus spoke for the first time since their arrival. “I did not bring you up to date on current events so you could reprimand Prowl for failing to commit genocide.”

“He’ll have a chance to make it up.” Sentinel gestured to their surroundings. Soundwave had never been to Luna-1 before—he had read the reports, and seen the pictures.

The images did not do it justice.

“I will give have him oversee the destruction of the Decepticons on Cybertron. That _may_ be easier for him to process than the colony worlds’ annihilation.”

“Sentinel, this is _not_ what we agreed on.”

“Isn’t it?” Sentinel crossed his arms. “I believe we came to the understanding that as my replacement once removed, _you_ deferred the Primacy to _me.”_

“You did _what?”_

* * *

The sudden influx of data nearly knocked Prowl over. He forced himself to remain still: Soundwave had granted him extensive, _rushed_ permissions. Prowl blinked back a dizzying wave of burning red and yellow calculations and requested permission to compress and organize Soundwave’s drivespace.

Cool relief flooded his systems as Soundwave granted him additional access.

“Prowl’s assistance: appreciated. _Greatly_ appreciated.”

“You’ve got enough to worry about.” Prowl snuck a glance at the medical readout. He sent another ping to Cosmos and received error message 283. “Literally.”

“Data overload, imminent?”

“You know the answer to that.”

He felt Soundwave’s hesitation at the edges of his consciousness.Prowl sighed.

“I _let_ you in my head.”

“To save my life.”

“You trusted me,” Prowl snapped. “Twice. I think I can trust you this one time.”

“I knew you would not accept Sentinel’s order.”

“And you knew I wouldn’t shoot to kill you?”

“Cosmos trusts you.” Primus. Cosmos again. Prowl cut off that thought before it could fully materialize. After a moment of deliberation, Prowl set up a partition in his systems.

“So I will do no less.”

“Cosmos doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

He felt Soundwave examining his words, pulling the interpretation from Prowl’s mind.

_Cosmos trusted95% doesn’t know what’s good for himme100%._

And it felt like being dissected.

“Soundwave…”

“I cannot stop any more than _you_ can stop.”

 _“I_ don’t use my abilities to take over people’s _minds.”_

Soundwave glared. That was a lie and the both knew it. Prowl reworded his statement.

“I don’t take over people’s minds in service to a mech who wants to commit intergalactic genocide.”

“This arguing is pointless.”

“You started it.”

_“You offered.”_

Prowl swore. He organized a hundred more data tracks and sent them back over to Soundwave, who accepted with far more spite than a mostly-dead mech should be capable of.

“I’m not used to it,” Prowl said, finally. “Being _understood.”_

“Accepted.” Soundwave pushed another data pack over their connection, one littered with glyphs and emotions turned into swirling colors.

“I suppose if there’s anyone in the galaxy that knows what it’s like to have been born seeing the world the wrong way, it’d be you.”

“Prowl: not wrong.” Had he not seen the command Soundwave’s processor sent to his gyros, he might have been surprised by the Decepticon grabbing his wrist. As it stood, Prowl tolerated the gesture—in a way, it was grounding: a physical reassurance that he was not alone. “Abilities, outlier or otherwise— _not wrong_ for existing _.”_

“I don’t need you to preach anti-Functionism to me. I need—”

Needed _what? Optimus_ to tell him that? To reassure him that he had been wrong, that Prowl was no monster for seeing trajectories and numbers where Optimus saw people and _hope?_ He hadn’t wanted to talk about this with _anyone_ (much less Soundwave) but the more that he thought about it, the more _Soundwave_ would think about it.

“Soundwave: not Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Mirage, Sunstreaker. Soundwave: incapable of providing the reassurance Prowl needs.”

“It was for the _better!”_ Prowl wrenched his arm free from Soundwave’s grip. “He was right.”

“He was not.” Soundwave’s visor was bright. Borderline delirious, Prowl knew. “Your understanding of their minds, acceptable. His dismissal of your perspective: _not_ acceptable.”

Prowl groaned, kicking away the pile of Sentinel’s armor he had been sitting on before flopping next to Soundwave.

They spent the next ten minutes in silence. Prowl organized and rerouted the chaotic, corrupted mess of Soundwave’s programs as Soundwave focused on reigning in his abilities.

“I can hear him.” Soundwave said, finally. “Cosmos. He is alive.”

“…thank you.”

* * *

Optimus, Cosmos noted, at least had the sense to look appropriately ashamed.

“Sentinel Prime is my predecessor,” Optimus was saying. “It was only right: the Senate laid out explicit instructions for the transference of the Matrix in the event of something just like this.“

Cosmos looked at Soundwave, who seemed torn between staying in place, turning and heading back through the space bridge, and turning his weapons on Sentinel.

“You knew what you were doing,” Prowl said. “You always do this: shove your problems—“

Starscream pushed past Cosmos, wings hiked high. He stood beside Soundwave. Again, Cosmos had to cancel the threat response protocols that were constantly requesting to come online whenever Starscream and Soundwave stood within three meters of each other.

“The Senate is gone!” Starscream pointed at Sentinel, then Optimus. “Which, if you remember, was the day we killed you.”

“Regardless.” Sentinel stood straighter, if that was even possible. “The Primacy has been deferred to me. Since he seems opposed to the idea, Prowl will be removed from his position as first lieutenant, replaced by…” he snapped his fingers in Soundwave’s direction. “Ratbat’s assistant.”

_ “Soundwave?”  _ Starscream sputtered. The noise echoed in the silence that blanketed the moon. “What makes you think he’d do it?”

“My most recent forecast of Cybertron’s population leads me to believe that, unfortunately, the Decepticons are vital to our survival as a species,” Sentinel said, as though Starscream hadn’t spoken. Cosmos looked back at Soundwave, who was still locked in place, but now trembling with barely-contained rage. Abruptly, Cosmos saw Soundwave as Prowl did—every bit as angry and dangerous as he was smart. The carefully constructed mask of congeniality and mellowness crumbled away, revealing the mech who had been the third in command of the entire Decepticon empire. “Their continued existence hinges on them being brought to heel, so to speak. Judging by the sorry state of this planet, I am assuming controlling the Decepticons via the Matrix was unsuccessful.”

“I…never attempted such a thing,” Optimus said.

“Optimus.” Cosmos’ voice felt like it was coming far away. “This is wrong.”

Sentinel waved a dismissive hand. “Irrelevant.”

For the first time since leaving Cybertron, Soundwave spoke.

“Primacy is no longer recognized as a legitimate form of government.” Cosmos could almost chalk up the slight tremble of Soundwave’s hands to his imagination. “Sentinel Prime has no jurisdiction over Cybertron, Cybertronians.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sentinel said, far more neutrally than Cosmos expected, but this time, it was  _ Prowl _ who stiffened. “You lead the Decepticons in D-16’s absence?”

“In  _ Megatron’s _ absence.”

“Whatever.” Sentinel neatly sidestepped Optimus, who had reached out his hand to grasp the other Prime’s shoulder. “Let’s put it this way, Decepticon: you and me, hand to hand combat.”

“Combat won’t prove anything,” Prowl snapped. He had stepped forward, putting himself between Soundwave and Sentinel. “Losing to him won’t stop you.”

“Killing me will,” Sentinel said. “Won’t it, Decepticon.”

Soundwave lunged, pushing past Prowl to tackle Sentinel. The Prime dodged neatly, using Soundwave’s leverage to flip him neatly onto the ground.

“We knew about him, you know,” Sentinel said. “And you too—your little trick with the records didn’t hold up under my investigators’ scrutiny. All unofficially, of course: someone would have opposed the ‘unethical’ nature of pulling apart a Senatorial aide’s life with no proof.

“I wonder—“ Sentinel leapt back as Soundwave kicked out at his legs. “Did the Autobots repurpose the lab we raised you in?”

In unison, Optimus and Cosmos looked at Prowl, who wasn’t paying attention to either of them. Cosmos made a note to ask Prowl about that later—if there ever was a later.

Soundwave seemed unbothered by the jab, or perhaps he hadn’t even heard—his back straightened, and he dropped into a fighting stance.

And then the fight began in earnest.

Every Autobot alive had seen Soundwave in action. Admittedly, Cosmos had seen less than most: constant long-term, deep space missions didn’t leave a lot of time for frontline action. But the way Soundwave fought now, graceless and desperate and furious, everything he tried so hard  _ not _ to be.

In a strange, uncomfortable way, it was beautiful.

“Calm down,” Prowl muttered, apparently to himself. Cosmos ignored him, and forced his gaze away from Soundwave to fully take in their surroundings. If it came down to it, he had no doubt Starscream would step in—even now, though the Seeker was posturing in front of Circuit and Longtooth, Cosmos could hear the faint hum of fully-charged Starscream’s weapons.

Optimus…the energon in his lines went cold as Cosmos realized he had no idea where Optimus would stand if it came down to a battle. Primus. At least he could (probably) trust that Prowl would stick with Soundwave.

Cosmos turned his attention to Red Alert and Alpha Trion. Until now, Cosmos hadn’t given them a second thought; he had not ever spent much time with Red Alert, but…as much as it conflicted with his former loyalty programs, Cosmos was very certain he could take Red Alert in a fight.

Sentinel’s fist made contact with Soundwave’s chassis. The glass cracked, but before it could shatter, Soundwave pivoted, swinging around and emptying the rounds from his cannon into Sentine’s face.

“That was not what they agreed upon,” Optimus said, quietly.

“Quiet,” Prowl snapped, and Cosmos winced. Prowl was staring at the scene unfolding before them, so intently Cosmos half-feared the mech’s processor was going to burn itself out. He could hear Prowl’s fans running overtime as he struggled to—what, predict what was happening?

Prowl tilted his head half a second before Sentinel took another swing at Soundwave’s helm, who dodged it nearly.

“Taking advantage of that idiot’s bandwidth to do something productive,” Starscream, who had apparently noticed the same thing Cosmos had. “I guess I see why Soundwave keeps you around.”

Unthinking, Cosmos elbowed him. Starscream huffed, but offered no further commentary.

Cosmos could think of nothing else to do but wait.

* * *

“Does it hurt?”

Those were the first words Prowl had spoken in some time.

His anger had faded, giving way to gray, barren exasperation. _Exhaustion,_ Soundwave corrected himself. Despite recharging for the better part of the last day, Prowl was exhausted.

They both were.

Soundwave checked his diagnostic report. The cube of energon Prowl had consumed, coupled with his current work welding what he could, had more than turned his chances of survival from _dismal_ to…mostly dismal. Regardless, Soundwave felt better than he had since before Trion had stabbed him through the chest. He supposed that could only be a good thing.

“Circuit dampeners are still activated,” Soundwave said, but that wasn’t what Prowl meant. “To my senses, the foreign object is…intert. Internal firewalls are attempting to reject it.”

It wasn’t entirely the truth—if he closed his eyes and _focused,_ Soundwave could hear the Matrix’s cloying whispers at the edge of his processor. But mostly, it was silent.

“I don’t think most mechs would call the Matrix of Leadership a ‘foreign object’.”

“I do.” Frustrated, Soundwave cut off a line of code that had been attempting to rewrite his systems to accept the Matrix. It was frightening in its inevitability—he could hold off the Matrix’s influence on his systems while he was conscious, but the second he entered recharge or stasis…

“I could…try and pull it out?”

“Negative. If Sentinel spoke the truth, Matrix will be required.”

“You don’t really think he _wasn’t_ lying?” Prowl’s perpetual frown deepened. Soundwave had been avoiding looking at the Matrix, comfortably nestled in the wreckage of his chassis, but now he looked.

“Matrix: would know.”

“Soundwave, you are _not_ communing with the Matrix right now.” 

Hm. Prowl was catching on, using the hardline in much the same way Soundwave had—cutting through obfuscating tone and misunderstandings in favor of understanding _intent._ It wasn’t a perfect method of communication, but under these circumstances…it was good enough.

It had temporarily cut down on their arguing, at least.

“Later. After rescue.”Because it _would_ be a rescue. With the hardline and shared energon his chances of survival had increased by 79%—and factoring in Cosmos trying to find them aboveground, their rescue was a near certainty.

The only thing left was to wait.

Soundwave heard Prowl send another location transmission. It bounced back, echoing against the layers of fallen Titan that stood between them and the surface.

Prowl set the welder aside.

“I know you said it would be impossible to actually contact anyone but—you can hear him. You told me you did. Before.”

Soundwave nodded. Before he could act upon the unspoken request, Prowl shook his head.

“It’s a waste of energy. A strain on your systems.”

“It is worth the cost. Soundwave—” _And Prowl— “_ Seeks reassurance. Cosmos’ presence, reassuring.”

“I am noting my own objection.”

“Acknowledged.”

Just to be safe, Soundwave entered the command to retract his battlemask, further reducing his chances of accidentally overheating his systems. He should have done it far earlier, Soundwave realized, before he and Prowl had hardlined. It wasn’t like it was the first time Prowl had seen him without it.

Soundwave shut down his optics and pushed his senses outwards, past the partially collapsed tunnel that might soon be their grave, past the deactivated Titan above them—

_There._

“He feels like—“ Prowl trailed off.

His voice felt very small.

Soundwave nodded. He withdrew as much as he was able, allowing Prowl to soak in Cosmos’ steadying presence.

“Does he know he feels like this?”

“Negative. Soundwave, Cosmos, never hardlined.” Soundwave considered his next words, more out of politeness than anything else. By virtue of being in his head, Prowl already _knew_ what he was going to say. “Soundwave thinks Cosmos will not appreciate the intensity.”

“Maybe not,” Prowl admitted. “But knowing that you care about him enough to feel that way…I think he might like _that.”_

He felt Soundwave parse through his words, lingering over the way Prowl had said _care._ Soundwave requested limited access to Prowl’s memory files. After a moment of hesitation, Prowl let him in.

“Cosmos: was part of Kaon’s security force?”

“On a contract basis.” Prowl said. “I don’t think he ever actually _went_ to Kaon. It was all arial reconnaissance for him.”

“You met him then.”

“Only in passing.” Prowl accessed another memory file and pushed it towards Soundwave. “Sentinel was settling into his role as Prime, touring the mines and polities.”

“I…do not remember this.”

Soundwave played back the memory file again, watching himself through Prowl’s optics.

“I didn’t think you would,” Prowl said. “You seemed—“

“Unstable?”

“Overwhelmed.” Prowl examined the fuzzy memory of the datapad in his hands, one that had contained what little information was available on Soundwave at the time. “If you don’t mind my asking…”

“Original designation: unknown.” Soundwave said. “Soundwave: selected name himself.”

It was Soundwave’s turn to send a memory to Prowl. Prowl accessed it, watching a far younger Soundwave examining a datapad. Ravage was on his lap quietly explaining the words Soundwave’s limited data analysis programs skipped over.

“Initially intended designation…Shockwave,” Soundwave admitted, and despite the circumstances, Prowl felt himself smile. “Ravage, explained Senator Shockwave’s existence, legacy. Second choice was selected, though shock waves feel more descriptive of my experience.”

“Wait—if you didn’t know Shockwave—“ Prowl frowned, mentally recalculating Soundwave’s age. What information he knew about the mech before and during the war had been abruptly thrown into question with that simple statement. “How did you attend the Academy if you didn’t know who Shockwave was?”

“Soundwave did not _technically_ attend Academy.” Soundwave didn’t sound particularly bothered by that fact. “Employment assistance provided by former Academy administrators prior to tenure at the mine; reemployed by Ratbat after he acquired, automated the mine.”

“Huh. So most of the information on you _was_ wrong.”

“Information?”

Prowl hesitated only a moment before sending over the dossier Autobot forces had compiled on him—it was classified, technically, but it was _also_ nothing Soundwave wouldn’t know.

“Data, mostly accurate,” Soundwave admitted. “True age, unknown. Ravage suggested age, said it would make me appear more reliable. Utilized position as Ratbat’s aide to finalize, cement biographical data.”

“And you’ve never tried to find out?”

Soundwave shrugged. “Soundwave’s early memories: corrupted, unclear. Defragmenting files would take more processing power than available.”

“Hm.” Prowl picked up the welder and switched it back on, then got back to work.

* * *

Two things happened in quick succession. Cosmos’ tactical visor registered a change in Red Alert: the mech’s deep wired and secondary weapons systems came online with a hum. Before he could react, Red Alert raised his weapon, pointed it directly at Prowl, and fired.

A split second before Prowl’s armor took the impact, Soundwave froze. Cosmos could only watch as Sentinel took advantage of his hesitation, swinging his blaster up to Soundwave’s chassis.

Glass and armor flew into the air as the blast tore through Soundwave’s frame—taking advantage of the already cracked casing, Cosmos noted, in a dry, detached way that felt more suitable to a long-distance reconnaissance mission than seeing mech (Soundwave, not Soundwave) be killed in front of him.

On instinct, Cosmos pivoted. Red Alert stumbled backwards and Cosmos pressed his advantage, forcing himself to ignore the sight of Prowl on the ground, unconscious or dead, with a smoking hole in his armor.

For a second, Cosmos feared he had miscalculated: Red Alert was far stronger than he appeared, easily fighting him off with a strength and desperation of a mech twice his size. The logical, distant part of his processor told him that he should be going after Sentinel—Sentinel, who was holding Soundwave upright, pushing away the mech’s feeble protests as he dragged Soundwave away from the fight.

Cosmos ducked as Red Alert leveled his blaster at his helm, then leapt forward and tackled the mech to the ground. His combat routines alerted him to the fact that Optimus was still within firing range: at any moment, the Prime could level his blaster and fire at Red Alert.

Or at Cosmos.

He put that thought out of his mind, focusing only on Red Alert. Out of his periphery, he saw Starscream raise his own weapons at Sentinel and fire.

* * *

A half-dozen error messages appeared on Prowl’s HUD as he slowly regained consciousness. He forced his optical sensors to reboot, and lifted his head, shaking his helm to clear the alerts. He shut off the pain receptors in his frame before the pain could send him back into stasis.

Prowl forced himself to his feet. The first thing he saw was the gaping hole in Soundwave’s chassis, before his attention was pulled upwards, towards Sentinel.

“I doubted Red Alert would have been able to kill you,” Sentinel said.”Considering your...modifications.”

“Modifications?” Despite the deactivated pain receptors, Prowl grimaced as he felt a crack in his rightmost fuel tank give way. He shut off all access to the fuel tank, staggering forward as he tried to find the command to activate his primary weapon. 

“What those Decepticons did to you was unacceptable,” Sentinel said. “If I had been left in charge, that never would have happened to you.”

“You would have turned on me—” Prowl winced. Sentinel was nearly backed up against the edge of a planetary engine. Did he intend to throw Soundwave down there? Why? “Us—eventually.”

“Maybe. In the meantime, I must ask: you are fond of him, this Decepticon? Enough to flee Cybertronian justice and live with him.”

Prowl didn’t dignify that with an answer. Soundwave was still online, still struggling as Sentinel pulled out his half of the Matrix from a subspace pocket. Before either of them could protest, he slipped it into the opening in Soundwave’s chassis, holding him still as Soundwave spat out a curse in a language Prowl did not know.

“I will transfer the details in a moment,” Sentinel said. “All that is required is keeping this one alive until we have need of the Matrix again—one mech’s life is worth the survival of our species, is it not?”

Prowl looked at the planetary engine. He looked at Sentinel, then at Soundwave, and hoped he understood.

He raised his blaster and fired.

* * *

“How much do you remember?” Prowl asked, again.“After you got…hurt.”

Soundwave had felt him mulling over the question for the last ten minutes.

“The relevant parts,” Soundwave said. “The Matrix. Pretending to shoot me. The consequences.”

“I wasn’t _pretending.”_

“Weapon settings were altered to avoid critical damage. Concussive damage only. Pretending.” Soundwave considered his next words carefully, remembered Prowl would know them anyway, then spoke: “Deception: admirable. Soundwave, impressed. Soundwave: _not_ impressed by Prowl attempting to throw himself and Sentinel into the planetary engines. _Reckless._ ”

“Did you remember anything that _didn’t_ involve me? Sentinel dragging you along with us?”

“Yes. But Prowl, was referring to _his_ actions. Desired confirmation that I remembered.”

Prowl shifted gingerly, taking care not to jar the blaster wound in his side. Soundwave stifled the brief, instinctive flash of protective anger: it wasn’t Red Alert’s _fault,_ no more than it was Soundwave’s that he had been turned into the killswitch for a Senate-sanctioned, planet-destroying monster.

“If it’s so simple to understand what I mean, how do you have any margin for misunderstanding?”

“Soundwave’s abilities: require adequate focus for comprehensive understanding,” Soundwave admitted. “Understanding imperfect if subject’s logic centers, emotion, incoherent, disorganized or conflicting. Additionally: Soundwave determined to respect Prowl’s wishes, relying on audio-visual methods of inference, rather than abilities.”

“I see.” Prowl crossed his legs. “…thank you. I thought you just enjoyed arguing.”

“Arguing with Prowl, enjoyable,” Soundwave admitted.

_“Uh.”_

Too familiar. Soundwave shifted away, giving Prowl what little privacy he could, considering they were in such a confined space.Prowl’s mind was spinning, trying to find a new topic, something else— _anything else—_ to talk about.

“Congratulations,” Soundwave said, almost desperately. Prowl looked up. “Few have killed a Prime.”

“I’m not sure that’s supposed to make me feel better. And,” Prowl made a vague gesture with one hand, indicating Sentinel’s height. “I don’t think it was really a fair fight, considering. And I _didn’t_ stop him in time.”

Soundwave looked at the pile of torn armor that used to be Sentinel and hummed appreciatively, then shrugged. “A Prime is a Prime.”

“Aren’t _you_ technically a Prime, now?”

Soundwave glared at Prowl. “As soon as rescue, repair, are implemented: Soundwave will declare Primacy obsolete.”

“I’m not sure you can do that.”

“Soundwave: has the Matrix.”

Prowl snorted. “The power’s gone to your helm already.”

Soundwave laughed. Idly, Prowl nudged Sentinel’s corpse, pushing his greying frame against the far wall.

“He respected me,” Prowl said. “And back then, I thought I was doing the right thing, the right way. Going through the right channels. Yet…”

“Understood.” And he _did,_ because he was in Prowl’s head just as much as Prowl was in his, and…there were few mechs who could claim that they had used their positions of influence and _genuinely_ tried to steer their leaders in the right direction, only to stand by them when it inevitably went wrong.

Soundwave cut off that thought process.

He’d rather think about Cosmos. Soundwave settled back, trying to ignore the lines of Matrix code that lingered insistently at the edge of his firewalls.

“I think he’d be happy,” Prowl said. “That we’re getting along.”

“He does not mind the arguing,” Soundwave said. “Usually. He has…fond exasperation, towards us. Especially you.”

Strangled, _desperate_ affectionlove the color of rust flooded through their connection. Soundwave grimaced, trying not to lose himself in the abrupt tumult of Prowl’s emotion—he’d been doing so well, _they’d_ been doing so well, and now he had seen something Prowl didn’t want him to.

“Don’t tell him.” Prowl’s voice was just as strangled as his thoughts. “You can’t tell him.”

“Prowl—“

“I don’t want to lose him.” Prowl leaned forward, grasping Soundwave’s wrist. “I can live with it not being reciprocated but I can’t make him _try_ and fail to…tolerate me.”

“How long?” Soundwave asked, feeling as though the blockage to the thrusters he and Prowl were resting on had been cleared, and now they were in free-fall, heading down to certain death together. He decided not to question the fact that he apparently believed Cosmos only _tolerated_ him. That he only deserved to be tolerated. Nothing more.

“I don’t know.” Prowl’s grip on his arm hadn’t loosened. “Since the incident with Optimus? Or the—the time we were drinking and woke up in your office and we _talked_ for hours and—”

“I will not tell him.”

“…okay.” Had they not been connected via hardline, Soundwave knew Prowl would not have believed him so easily. He withdrew from the flurry of Prowl’s simulation matrix.

“Prowl: desires distraction?”

“Please.”

Soundwave pulled up one of his favorite files: a recording of the planet Snxss, overlaid with smoothed brown noise and a looped track of a Guardian drone’s sparkbeat. He lowered the volume to something Prowl would _hopefully_ consider tolerable—he didn’t want to accidentally short circuit his audio receptors.

“It’s noisy.”

“That is the point.”

“I guess.” But Prowl hadn’t stopped listening. Soundwave counted that as a win. The sound was diluted, coming through the hardline connection, but still, Soundwave felt his systems relaxing. “You made this?”

“Recordings were collected over time. I arranged them. The compilation is grounding, though direct contact with another is preferable.” Soundwave didn’t bother attempting to conceal the meaning of his words: the hardline would have made it impossible if Prowl decided to pry. Which he did. Not that Soundwave minded.

“You really do like my mind.” Prowl’s voice was quiet. “I’m not used to that. Is that why you feel—sound—better? You should be in worse shape than you were a few days ago.”

“Shared energon, minor repairs, helped.” Soundwave didn’t move, for fear of Prowl remembering—ah. He had. Prowl withdrew his hand, hesitated, and looked directly at Soundwave.

“It is your choice.” _Soundwave_ wanted it.

Did Prowl?

Prowl put his hand back. Soundwave continued.

“Hardline and assistance with processes helped the most. Otherwise, coherent communication, doubtful. Soundwave: apologizes for the imposition.”

“It’s not _bad,”_ Prowl said. “I can’t even feel you in my head—not the way I thought I would. It doesn’t feel any different than a regular hardline.”

“Projecting emotions, sensations…difficult.” Soundwave said. “Occurs only with the use of outside technology, extreme emotional circumstances.”

“So you couldn’t, say, decide I needed to feel a specific emotion. Or a thought.”

“I could _attempt_ it,” Soundwave admitted. “Your firewalls, processor, would recognize it as a foreign sensation. And I would be unable to do anything besides focus on…controlling, you.”

Relief shot through Prowl, so tangible that for a moment, Soundwave thought he had actually short-circuited.

“Thank you.”

Soundwave nodded. There wasn’t anything else to say.

* * *

“You stopped thinking.” 

Prowl woke to darkness.

“’S what happens when you’re asleep.”

There were very, very few mechs who could look attractive when curled up among the remains of a dead Prime. Prowl was one of them.

Abruptly, Prowl sat up.

Had he imagined—

No. He’d been awakened from a bad defrag, or there had been some emotional bleed through the hardline, crossing their shared feelings towards Cosmos with their current situation.

Or he had just imagined it.

Soundwave hadn’t stifled the (imaginary) thought process, which practically confirmed it had been a misidentified thought. Prowl looked over at Soundwave, who didn’t look like he had moved since Prowl last saw him. Prowl checked the medical readout—Soundwave’s levels had dropped another 7% in the last day. Repairs and energon and hardline or not, Soundwave was running out of time.

Unthinking, Prowl sent another ping.

The response was instant.

::P▒wl? ▒::

Soundwave tried to sit up. Gently, Prowl pushed him back down before reopening the comm channel.

::Are you—you░and▒ Soun▒▒dw▒ve? Sta▒░░ —ack.::

“Right above us,” Soundwave said. “They will break through in a moment. Prowl should know—”

Instinctively, Prowl moved to shield Soundwave from the worst of the debris as their rescuers began to drill through the last layers of the fallen Titan. He winced, biting back a pained yelp as a chunk of metal hit his patched side, then felt Soundwave grab his hand.

Prowl let him.

A single ray of sunlight fell on his armor, and someone grabbed his shoulder.

“We got him!”

That…was not Cosmos. Cosmos was _there,_ yes—Prowl could hear him, calling out to Prowl and Soundwave.

Cold horror froze Prowl’s spark—half embarrassment, half fear, mostly irritation that he _hadn’t_ thought to consider the possibility that in his zeal to rescue Soundwave, Cosmos wouldn’t have harassed Starscream into letting _them_ out. His tactical simulation software, unused for _days,_ sprang to life with an audible _snap_.

He had anticipated the program’s startup process to be painful enough _without_ the addition of his former gestalt. 

“Prowl!”

“I _told_ you!”

“Prowl!”

He had two seconds of warning—error messages pinged his brainpan and his backup systems created a copy of recent working memory. His processor abruptly short-circuited and Prowl had one second to be mortified that he was about to faint right on top of the Matrix of Leadership.

* * *

“Do _not_ put me in that thing,” Prowl snarled at Flatline, and Cosmos had to fight back an exhausted sigh. The medic nodded and backed up obligingly, hands raised as though he expected Prowl might actually attack.

“I am…” Flatline gestured to Soundwave, who lay unconscious on the next recharge slab. “Going to put _him_ in the chamber, because _he_ can’t tell me otherwise. And then I’ll be back, and we’ll see about patching you up without a CR chamber. Yes?”

“Whatever.”

It wasn’t until Flatline turned away that Prowl relaxed, slumping against Cosmos. Unsure how much he actually _wanted_ to be comforted, Cosmos awkwardly wrapped his arm around Prowl’s shoulders, and Prowl tucked his head against Cosmos’ neck.

“Sorry.”

It was the fifth time in as many hours Cosmos had apologized.

“I thought Soundwave would’ve been able to sense them. And tell you.”

“He didn’t know.” Cosmos didn’t ask how Prowl could sound so certain. “It—you got him out. You got us out. That’s all that matters. Red Alert?”

“He’s gonna be okay.” Cosmos shifted his stance. “He broke through the programming a minute after you and Soundwave, uh, fell.”

Cosmos decided to leave out the aftermath: the chaos of Cybertronians flooding the spacebridge, desperate to find proof of Sentinel’s death, or barring that, make their own proof. Circuit and Longtooth’s continued coverage, the clip of Prowl tackling Sentinel into one of the thrusters, Sentinel grabbing a half-conscious Soundwave and pulling him along with them had been played on repeat for _days_ until Cosmos had grown numb to it. Starscream’s posturing. Optimus spinning the incident as another example of the corruption of the Primes that came before him. Cosmos, practically coming to blows with Sky-Byte before the latter agreed to petition Starscream to allow the Constructicons out to help dig through the Titan that had collapsed over Luna-1’s planetary engines.

They would find out soon enough.

Flatline coughed, conspicuously.

“I’ll be right outside,” Cosmos said, and Prowl nodded.

Begrudgingly, Cosmos let go, and Prowl turned to face Flatline. Cosmos didn’t allow himself to look back as he stepped out of the medbay.

Sky-Byte was waiting for him.

“I’m sorry,” Cosmos said, before Sky-Byte could speak. “I know how you feel about the Constructicons—I _get it._ I do. I just—“

“You made the right choice.” Sky-Byte’s normally toothy smile was absent, but his optics were soft. “I can see why they like you.”

“I dunno about that.” Cosmos accepted the cube Sky-Byte pressed into his hands. “I’d like to hope this won’t happen again.”

“It’s always something with you Autobots.” Sky-Byte pursed his lips. “And Decepticons.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Sky-Byte snuck a glance at the medbay, then looked back at Cosmos.

“Circuit wants a brief interview about Soundwave’s commune—he’s saying people have expressed interest in it since…all this. I can try to delay it, or if you want me to wait here while you…?”

Cosmos looked down at his energon-streaked armor. “You’re good.”

He watched Sky-Byte leave, then forced himself to drink half the energon before returning to the medbay.

Flatline casually waved off Cosmos’ apology-slash-explanation of the fight Prowl had put up over the CR chamber. He assured he’d be in his office if either of them actively started dying, but he _really_ had to prepare for the next anticipated wave of skirmishes this latest event would bring about.

Which left Cosmos alone.

Not _really_ alone—Cosmos could hear the steady, rhythmic sound of the machines monitoring Soundwave’s vital signs. And Prowl was _right there._ Sedated, with new weld marks on his side.

But alive.

They both were.

Prowl looked…peaceful, Cosmos thought. More peaceful than he _should,_ given the circumstances: even the jagged scar crossing the bridge of his nose looked less severe than usual.

He wished his hands had a lighter touch.

He remembered _Soundwave,_ after the fight with Galvatron, visiting Cosmos in the medbay on the station, gently touching the welds in his armor with such exacting gentleness that it nearly circled back around to being _too much_.

And Prowl had done the same thing to him—more clumsily, of course, examining the seams in his armor that night after Cosmos officially retired from the Autobots.

Cosmos tried to put Soundwave and Prowl’s dexterous hands out of his mind, settling for gently cupping the side of his face with one hand.

To his surprise, Prowl actually _sighed_ and lean into the touch.

And Cosmos felt something.

For a moment, he half-feared he was having a spark spasm, or more realistically—he had been shot at some point and was just now feeling it.

Except in a terrible way, it actually felt _good._ Like a piece of a puzzle he didn’t know existed had finally been slotted into place, and now Cosmos had to contend with the fact that he actually _had_ a puzzle. A puzzle in the shape of two damaged, brilliant, _beautiful_ mechs who just recently had been starting to tolerate each other, who had the nerve to just _exist_ around Cosmos, and…

_“Oh.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/hello_shepard)


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